by J. T. Edson
‘Get set!’ he ordered, gripping the cords.
‘Come on, Lon,’ Mark whispered. ‘Do something!’
Almost as if the Kid heard, he produced his startling effect. From where they sat their horses, Dusty’s party saw little of the rocket being fired—but they could not miss it striking Robbins. Loud in the night rang the stricken man’s hideous scream; then he came tumbling down the slope in a mass of flames. Only for a moment did Dusty hesitate. He saw the chance had come, even as the shocking thought that the Kid might be the victim struck him. If that fiery mass should be the Kid, his sacrifice must not be in vain.
‘Yeeah!’ Dusty yelled, shattering the night with the rebel yell.
‘Giddap!’ Wes echoed, lashing the nearest of the four specially loaded horses with his reins.
Already restless under the uncomfortable and strange burdens, all four horses leapt forward. Fighting down his fear that the Kid’s body rolled blazing on the slope, Mark kicked his mount into movement. As the leading horses passed over the rim, he and Dusty jerked the coverings from the tops of their loads.
At the sound of Robbins’ scream, Bilsden’s party came to a halt and whirled around. What they saw slammed them into such a state of terrified stupefaction that they could not have been better prepared to receive Dusty’s second surprise.
The earlier stages of the posse’s advance had been made in commendable silence, although less from discipline than out of a healthy respect for the marksmanship of their proposed victims. On seeing the body making its fiery descent, all thoughts of noiseless movement ended and talk welled up. Even Bilsden forgot his interest in how Salter’s mission had gone. He wondered what had caused the rocket to discharge early, but did not attribute it to any human agency.
Loud though the excited Negroes chattered as they stared up the slope, the rebel yell rang out louder. Yet only a couple of them turned to see why the hitherto silent Texans were letting out such a noise. The two men saw the four leading horses burst into sight—and what a sight!
Hideous heads, with fiery, glowing eyes and mouths, topped white, flapping and unreal-seeming bodies a’fork the horses as they charged down the slope towards the river. Wild, unearthly screeches and howls shattered the night above the drumming of hooves. The startled shrieks which arose from the investigating pair served only to bring their companions whirling around the faster.
Despite the fact that his family and kin owned no slaves, and indeed that there were no colored people in Rio Hondo County, Dusty had seen enough of Negroes to understand something of their mentality. At that time most Negroes in the United States were only two or three generations removed from the raw African bush natives. While they copied many of the white men’s ways and mostly practiced Christianity, at the back of their minds remained the inborn beliefs and old tribal superstitions. Even the more enlightened colored men, especially those who sought to lead their people, clung to the old beliefs; although in most cases they used the primitive religions as a means of enforcing their will on the less educated folk.
So Dusty based his plan on those superstitions. While he hoped for no more than a temporary shock, giving time to break through unharmed, he saw that the explosion of the rocket handed him far more than that.
Maybe Bilsden recognized the glowing heads as nothing more than hollowed-out melons, with lanterns of some kind illuminating the features cut through the skin. None of his companions gave the matter a thought. Taken with the sight of the blazing body, those unearthly ‘riders’ charging across the river proved too much for the majority of the Negroes. Yells of fear rang out and the men scattered, dropping weapons and spoiling the aim of the few hardier, or more drunken, souls who stood their ground. Some shots were fired, without any result other than to puncture holes in the sheets Mark had been taking as a wedding present for his cousin and which, draped over the pole supports lashed to the horses’ backs, formed the bodies of Dusty’s phantom ‘riders’.
On the heels of the four horses, although fanned out to their flanks so as to avoid bullets aimed at the ‘riders’, Dusty, Mark and Wes plunged their mounts through the Sulphur and kept up their wild yelling. Although hampered by the two led horses, Dusty and Mark found no great difficulty in making a fast crossing. In the ride north, the spare animals—to form a nucleus of the cousin and her husband’s remuda—had learned not to fight against the lead rope and followed without making any fuss.
Although not burdened by leading horses, Wes rode without a saddle. For all that, he kept up with his cousin. On reaching the other side of the river, he urged his horse to a better speed. Already the Negroes were beginning to scatter in panic, so no more shots came at the Texans. Wanting to repay his cousin and the other two in some small way, Wes urged his mount alongside the nearest of the leading quartet. Then, using the ability gained handling horses and cattle on a round-up, he turned the horse and its ‘rider’ along the trail. Edged over by Wes’ mount and the other horse, the remainder of the quartet swung around to head in a downstream direction.
‘Stop, damn you!’ Bilsden screeched after his departing posse. ‘Come back here. It’s only—’
And then the flames set off the rest of Robbins’ rockets. Hissing, glowing missiles flew in all directions, while flames licked high into the sky as other charges took fire before the propellant could ignite. Some of the rockets came down the slope, causing an even more rapid scattering of the posse,
Long before Bilsden could hope to even start thinking of gathering his men again, the Texans’ horses had faded off into the distance.
Half a mile from their crossing point, Dusty started to slow down his paint and told Wes to halt the leading quartet. With that done, the small Texan looked around him.
‘Get those things off them!’ he ordered. ‘If there’re any more posses in the county, that fire back there’ll bring them like bears to a honey-tree. We don’t want to give them something to find us by.’
‘They sure worked up a storm,’ Wes answered enthusiastically as he started to obey. Then he saw the way in which his companions sat looking at each other and guessed at their thoughts. ‘That couldn’t’ve been Lon got hit by the rocket.’
‘I sure as hell hope not,’ Dusty answered quietly.
‘Ole Lon’s maybe not smart on some things, but he’s got a whole lot more good sense than to charge straight at that damned launcher even if he saw the feller fixing to use it,’ Mark went on, trying to sound convincing. ‘Do we wait for him, Dusty?’
For a moment Dusty did not reply. He sat staring off across the range to where the sky still glowed redly. Then he turned back to his friends. By that time Mark and Wes had removed the melon heads from the ‘riders’ and doused the lanterns. Yet they could guess at the emotions playing on the small Texan’s face. Despite his concern for the Kid’s wellbeing, Dusty forced himself to try to speak normally,
‘We’ll keep moving,’ he said and the others caught the undertones of strain in his voice. ‘Lon’ll find us easy enough.’
If, although none of them put the thought to words, that had not been his body they saw struck by the rocket.
Setting his face grimly, Dusty reached across for the halter rope of the nearest unloaded horse. He added two of the quartet to the pair already fastened to his saddlehorn and Mark took charge of the others. Then they set off at a steady trot along the trail.
With every hundred yards put behind them, they expected the Kid to ride up. An hour went by, then two, three, and he still did not put in the expected appearance. Nor did they see any sign of other posses and at last Dusty gave the order to halt. Mark let out a low sigh of relief and turned in his saddle, ears straining in the hope of hearing hooves following them.
‘Take the horses off the trail and we’ll make camp until dawn,’ Dusty said.
‘There’s not much chance of him coming now, is there?’ Wes asked.
‘There’s always a chance where ole Lon’s concerned,’ Mark replied; but his voice lacked conviction.
‘You know there’s not,’ Wes insisted bitterly. ‘Damn it to hell, he got killed because of me.’
‘You can drop that right now!’ Dusty snapped. ‘Lon knew what he was taking on. If anything went wrong—’
‘Damn it, Dusty, he’s your amigo!’ Wes yelled.
‘You don’t have to tell us that,’ Mark put in. ‘And hold your voice down, damn you.’
‘That’s just about what I was going to say!’ Dusty went on.
Suddenly Wes realized just how his companions must feel. While he had known the Kid only a short time, they were the dark youngster’s friends and were bound by the close ties of dangers shared. So he closed his mouth and followed the other two off the trail. After allowing their horses to drink at the river, they recrossed the trail and found a place to camp for the remainder of the night. None of them spoke much as they removed saddles or packs from the horses, yet the same thought ran through all their minds. While none of them could wholly believe it, they hoped that the Kid might still be alive.
An explosive snort broke from the Kid’s stallion as it stood clear of the other animals. Hearing the sound, Dusty and Mark swung around and stared at the big horse. They knew that the white had been taught to remain silent in camp and did not ordinarily make a sound. Tossing back its fine head, the stallion let out another snort.
Hooves drummed and a familiar shape drew nearer the camp through the darkness.
‘Lon!’ Mark whooped.
‘Howdy,’ greeted the Kid, riding up and halting his borrowed horse. ‘You was expecting maybe ole Carpetbag Davis hisself?’
At first Wes could bring no words out, but stood with his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Then he sprang forward with his right hand held out.
‘You danged ole goat!’ he gurgled. ‘We thought you’d gone and got all burned up by that rocket.’
‘That was another feller,’ answered the Kid, shaking hands. Then he waved his other hand in the direction of the horse which had brought him to the camp. ‘I figured you might need this.’
At first Wes thought the Kid meant the horse. Then he moved closer and ran his hand over the saddle. No cowhand could fail to identify such an important item of property by touch.
‘Well I’ll be eternally damned!’ Wes gasped. ‘It’s my kak.’
‘How about telling us what happened?’ demanded Mark, clamping hold of the Kid’s hand and pumping it vigorously.
‘Ease off!’ yelped the recipient of the handshake. ‘Get your cotton-picking fist offen my dainty lil paw afore you crush it away.’ Then he realized how his friends must have been feeling. ‘Hey you-all weren’t worried about me, now were you?’
‘Damned Injun!’ snorted Mark, thrusting the hand away, ‘I thought you’d took my makings with you.’
‘What happened, Lon?’ asked Dusty, grinning. ‘Who got hit with the rocket?’
‘Feller who owned it,’ answered the Kid. ‘He was happied up about burning you out, so I figured he should ought to try it hisself.’
‘What kept you for so long?’ Mark said.
‘I got to thinking that Wes’d likely need his saddle and went back for it,’ the Kid replied.
Which bald statement the others had to be content with. The Kid did not bother telling them how he had swung around, returned to the State Police camp and stolen the rope from a saddle. Nor how he had staked out the borrowed horse on good grazing, then slipped unseen along the trail to remove the saddle from the dead bay. That part had been comparatively easy, with the posse returned to their camp and not watching the river. However, it had taken time, during which his companions continued to ride and worried over the possibility that he might be dead.
‘I just never reckoned that you’d go to worrying over poor lil ole me,’ he concluded with a grin.
‘Get dressed, you’re giving me the shivers,’ growled Dusty.
‘Danged Injun!’ snorted Mark, a comment only a good friend could make to the Kid with the hope of remaining healthy after using it. ‘What now, Dusty?’
‘We’ll do like we intended. Bed down here for the night. I don’t reckon they’ll be following us, but we’ll not light a fire, just in case there’s more of them about.’
Not until the camp had been established and the Kid had returned to wearing civilized clothing did the question of the future arise. Wes brought it up, wondering what his illustrious cousin might be planning to do next. Attending the wedding of Mark’s cousin might be given as a reason for their presence in the area, but he knew the more pressing business of his troubles had really brought them to North Texas.
‘What’re we going to do now, Dusty?’ he asked.
‘Get some sleep while we can,’ Dusty answered with a grin.
‘And then what?’ Wes insisted.
‘Comes the morning you’re heading south for the OD Connected. If you steer clear of towns, you ought to make it.’
‘Will you be coming along?’
‘Nope. I’m going up to Bonham after we’ve seen Mark’s kin, to see if I can find anybody who’ll help clear you of killing Sheriff Waggets.’
Which Wes had expected to hear. Knowing the dangers involved in such an undertaking, he felt that he could make a better contribution than the one Dusty had outlined.
‘Then I’m coming along,’ he stated.
‘The hell you are!’ Dusty snapped.
‘You’re sticking out your neck for me—’ Wes interrupted before Dusty could go further.
‘Which same we don’t want things made any harder,’ Mark put in.
‘How’s that?’ Wes demanded hotly.
‘You’re a mite too well known up that ways,’ the blond giant explained. ‘It only needs one glimpse of you thereabouts and the whole country’ll be filled with State Police thicker’n fleas on an Injun cur dog.’
‘Proving you didn’t burn down that sheriff’s going to be hard enough without that,’ drawled the Kid. ‘Dusty’s acting for the best.’
Only for a moment did Wes hesitate. He realized just how much he owed to his three companions. Without their appearance he would have ridden into the second posse, or been boxed between the two groups. Caught unprepared he would be dead, or captured; which amounted to the same thing. Even had he managed to hole up across the Sulphur, it was unlikely he could have escaped. Probably the first rush would have seen him over-run, or the rockets would have burned him out. At best he might have climbed the bluffs and faced the chancy business of making his escape on foot.
The presence of Dusty’s party had changed all that. Careful planning of the escape by Dusty, aided by Mark’s wedding gifts and the Kid’s specialized talents, had brought Wes through unharmed. The very least he could do in return was avoid adding to his cousin’s already difficult task of proving him innocent.
‘All right, Dusty,’ he said, ‘you know best.’
‘I figure I do,’ Dusty admitted.
‘You don’t have to tell us that,’ stated the Kid. ‘Now how’s about leaving the hired help to get some sleep?’
‘Why not?’ Dusty replied. ‘It’s what you pair do best.’
‘One thing though, Dusty,’ Mark said as they prepared to bed down. ‘How’d you figure to handle things in Bonham?’
‘Ride in and ask a few questions as a starter.’
‘Won’t folks recognize you? Lon and me’ve never been up there, but somebody might know you.’
‘I don’t reckon so,’ Dusty answered. ‘I’ve not been there since just after the war and I wore uniform then.’
‘You figuring on asking the local law to tell us what we want to know?’ the Kid inquired.
‘Not the law,’ Dusty replied. ‘And not us. When we get there, I’m going in alone.’
‘Alone?’ three voices raised in one single word, matching each other in the incredulity they showed.
‘Just me,’ Dusty agreed. ‘It’s the only way we can do it.’
Ten – Mount Up and Ride Out
Only after a heat
ed discussion did Dusty’s companions agree to fall in with his arrangements. At first all insisted that they should accompany him to Bonham and give their moral backing to the investigation. However, Dusty’s arguments won out in the end. Wes finally realized that his presence would be a liability in Fannin County, more so than his local knowledge might prove an asset. Knowing the delicate nature of the situation, Mark and the Kid saw reason more readily. When they heard how Dusty planned to make his visit, it was apparent that he stood a better chance of succeeding alone.
So the party separated at dawn, with Wes riding south and the others headed towards the home of Mark’s cousin. Long before any of the State Police posse managed to reach Delta and spread the alarm, Wes passed through the danger area and headed towards the OD Connected in comparative safety. On their way north, Dusty’s party avoided contact with other people until reaching their first destination. There they left the depleted wedding gifts and made preparations for the final and most difficult part of their business.
Again the trio travelled, keeping clear of towns. Later they would learn that the precaution had been unfounded. Although Bilsden knew that three men had helped Wes escape, he could not offer any description of them. Nor could any of the Negroes who had ridden on the two posses.
Leaving his friends in the woods behind the Hardin place, Dusty rode into Bonham, as he planned, alone. Aware that he took a considerable risk, he did all he could to lessen the chances of being recognized. Instead of riding the paint, a fine animal guaranteed to attract attention, he sat a nondescript bay gelding borrowed from Mark’s cousin. While it was an unprepossessing beast, it had a remarkable turn of speed and proved to be both steady and reliable.
A group of men pitching horseshoes behind the livery barn watched Dusty ride up with no great interest. He had left off his gunbelt and matched Colts, although retaining his usual clothes. Thrust into his waistband, butt pointing to the front and on his left side, was a spare Army Colt from his warbag. With plain walnut grips, the gun looked like an ordinary production model. Closer examination might disclose that its mechanism had been smoothed and improved to professional standard but nothing showed externally. All in all Dusty struck the men as he wanted to, looking like an insignificant drifter. If they thought about him at all, it was as an unimportant cowhand come into town for a between pay-day visit.
